A Taking of Leave
by M C Pehrson
Summary: In this first of an 80-plus series of stories, Spock takes leave from the Enterprise to participate in research on a colony planet. While there, he encounters a mysterious halfling who tests his Vulcan discipline and changes his life.
1. Chapter 1

At dawn a lone man strode up the central walkway of Starfleet Medical Center, San Francisco. His haunted eyes stared strictly forward as he moved through the complex, oblivious to the green lawns and morning-fresh flowerbeds. Pulling his heavy black coat snug against the autumn chill, he climbed the hospital steps.

Spock felt cold. How could that be, he wondered, when deep inside he was on fire? He longed for the heat and serenity of Vulcan's desert sands, for a place under the crimson sky to embrace the ancient disciplines and find peace. He longed to quench, once and for all, the inner flames burning him to distraction—such an exquisite distraction that a part of him longed for the flames to burn on forever. He was torn apart with longings.

Inside the main entrance he presented himself at the security counter. Stepping up to the retina scanner, he awaited the discreet little hum that meant verification of his identity. Then he was free to move on. As usual, he took the turbolift to the second floor and headed for the east wing nurses' station. Behind the counter, a young woman glanced up. She recognized him and her expression grew wary. There was no need for her to ask what he wanted.

Predictably, Spock said, "Room 204, please."

"Sorry," came the firm response. "Nothing's changed since yesterday. You're still excluded from the visitor list."

Spock nodded, as usual. Only this time he did not leave. Instead he took a seat in the nearby waiting area. His position afforded a clear view of the hall security door. Though it was warmer here, a stray shiver crept up his spine as he considered the unyielding barrier of hostility separating him from the patient he had hoped to see.

"Adrianna," he breathed, his mind pressing toward her and the memories of their time together on Ildarani…

ooooo

Spock had attended the Governor's Ball only out of a sense of political obligation, but once there he found something of interest. As he mingled with the Ildaran colonists, his attention was drawn time and again to a slender young woman gliding over the dance floor. The flush of her cheeks was disturbingly familiar. How gracefully she moved. He watched her follow her partner's steps in perfect time with the music, her azure gown billowing. He watched her smile into the young man's eyes, saw his hand tighten possessively around her slim waist and draw her closer. Then the dance slowed and Spock turned from the scene, inexplicably warm in his civilian suit.

A waiter paused beside him holding a tray of effervescent beverages. "Champagne, sir?"

"No." Spock shook his head. "Thank you." He moved to the buffet table, but nothing in the lavish cornucopia stirred his appetite. He saw several of his fellow scientists socializing with the colonists, and considered joining them. But his eyes had already traveled back to the exquisite face with its smooth, honey-toned complexion; to the wavy cascade of golden hair swaying in the dance.

Could that be the same silken hair he had handled this afternoon? While working alone in the treeclan, sounds of distress led him to a grubby slip of a girl fighting to free her hair from a thorn-covered vine. Carefully he disentangled every strand. Some overly adventurous youth, he thought—until the thicket parted, revealing the womanly figure beneath those overalls.

"I feel like such a fool," she had said, climbing out with his assistance. Then she looked at him with eyes of liquid amber, a look of such intensity that he felt drawn into their depths. Shaken, he let his hands drop away from her.

"I was gathering fogberries." She held up a sack full of red fruit. "Here—won't you have these for your trouble?" Her eyes slowly passed over his features and settled on his pointed ears. Feeling decidedly uncomfortable, Spock had declined the berries and left the area.

 _Now who was staring?_ Spock realized that his interest in the young woman was every bit as unmannerly as her ogling of his Vulcan ears, yet he could not to stop himself. In the midst of a whirling movement her face came around, eyes lifted, and they seemed to look directly into his. Her lips parted in a smile, teeth flashing white.

Abruptly Spock turned away and looked down at the buffet table, but he scarcely saw the food. With his mind in disarray, he started for the exit. Midway to the door he lost his breath in an exotic drift of perfume. He seemed to tumble into rich yellow-brown eyes sparkling above a dress of blue. He stopped short.

"Spock," said the woman, smiling. "That's your name, isn't it? Spock—the handsome young rescuer of damsels in distress."

To his dismay, Spock could think of no way to answer but "Yes."

"You left so quickly this afternoon. I didn't have a chance to really thank you."

"There was no need."

"I think there was. Why didn't you at least take the berries?"

Spock caught his lower lip between his teeth and glanced down at the gleaming parquet floor. He did not entirely understand when had motivated his refusal of the native fruit. Fortunately she did not press him for a reply.

"Don't you know how rare those berries are? No, I suppose you don't, being an off-worlder. Someone told me you're involved in the Federation research project here in New Florida, that you're some sort of military man." Her fingertips brushed his sleeve, and a strange current seemed to flow up his arm. "No uniform. Let me guess—you're a spy. A Romulan herbalist sneaked in by the Star Empire."

The current reached Spock's brain. He came scandalously close to smiling. "That is a very fanciful notion, but I am actually a Vulcan astrophysicist on leave from Starfleet."

"A Space specialist? Studying plants?"

"I have many interests." It was true. It was enough said, yet Spock felt compelled to add unnecessarily, "As a Vulcan I have certain abilities that are useful in the telepathic experiments."

"Really!" Her face lit with excitement. "Spock, you mean you actually _talk_ to the Treeple?"

"On a near-subliminal level," he explained. "Their intelligence is of a very different order from ours, but I have managed some interesting exchanges." Her look of admiration deepened. Almost without thinking he said, "I…do not know _your_ name."

"Of course," she said lightly. "I should have introduced myself. I am Adrianna."

"Lovely. It…it somehow suits you." Spock inwardly cringed at the sound of his own words. How could he have said anything so inept, so banal, so…utterly human? Yet Adrianna seemed pleased with the foolish compliment. Flashing him an encouraging smile, she seemed about to speak again when her dark-haired dance partner came up beside her, furiously seized Spock and hurled him to the floor.

Spock experienced a jolt of outrage that sent him to his feet, prepared to fight. The human was more heavily muscled than Spock, but Spock had the distinct advantage of his Vulcan blood.

"Here now!" a man shouted. "Stop that!"

"Yes, please," begged Adrianna. "Please don't!"

Spock glanced her way and met the soulful pleading in her eyes. People were starting to gather around.

Her dance partner raked him with a look of raw hatred and uttered an expletive. Grabbing Adrianna's arm, he told her, "You're _my_ date! Come on, we're leaving."

So this was not her husband. Spock watched the man's fingertips dig into her skin, saw her eyes narrow in response, and he did not like it. Very quietly he asked her, "Would you prefer to stay?"

Her face saddened and with a shake of her head she let herself be led away. Spock stared after them for a long while.

There was no sleep for him later at the scientists' encampment. Visions of Adrianna haunted the dark hours—hours as pressing as fingers on golden skin, leaving their possessive mark, hours as black as hate-filled eyes. In his lifetime Spock had observed many human displays of emotion, but the intensity of the man's jealousy was particularly disturbing—as was Spock's own reaction to it. He had been more than ready to fight. He had _wanted_ to.

In the misty hour before sunrise, he pulled on his clothes and quietly slipped past the row of bunkrooms, out the back door. He paused in the cool, damp air to fasten his coat, then slung his tricorder over his shoulder and strode into the fog-shrouded forest. His dark civilian clothing rendered him almost invisible in the thick growth of Arbori patibilis—or Treeple, as the locals called them. Part fiber and part flesh, the towering treelike marvels were creatures of gentle intelligence and disposition. Just walking the forest, Spock felt his tension ease into a peaceful fascination with these unique beings. Concealed by the fog, he wrapped his arms around a thick trunk and pressed his cheek to the shaggy pseudo-bark. She felt warm. The female exuded tranquility like a consoling mother—like Amanda, with that affectionate smile that had caused Spock such chagrin in his boyhood. Chagrin, embarrassment—stinging proof of the emotions he denied. Once, in a fit of such embarrassment, he had actually lied outright to a young companion. "No—that is not my mother"….

The Tree shrugged against Spock, and he abruptly let go. After collecting his thoughts he made a brief, ironic note of the incident in his tricorder and envisioned explaining the entry to his colleagues. He almost wished he could delete the notation or bury it in a thick report, but it was too important a finding, and he was a scientist—a _Vulcan_ scientist. Perhaps it was time he remembered that. Sitting with his back against the gentle tree-creature, he turned his mind inward and tried to enter a deep meditative state.

…Long minutes passed. He should not have sensed them. The morning dampness cut through his clothes. He should not have felt it. More and more distractions sidled into his mind… _Trees_. _A great, solemn crowd of Trees. Fog, moist and swirling about the ankles of a_ _graceful young woman. The mists of dawn enfold her like a soft, white gown, delicately parting as she reaches his side and kneels in the moss. Quietly she looks on,_ _longing to touch him. With a slow, timid motion she reaches for his hand. As their_ _fingertips brush, her amber eyes brighten with a mysterious intent that seems to_ _flow outward …_

Spock's eyes snapped open. Caught in the act, the flesh and blood Adrianna drew back her fingers as if burnt. She started to rise, but Spock found himself saying, "No—wait."

Hesitating, she glanced about miserably. "I…I'm sorry. I shouldn't have touched you. I didn't mean to wake you up."

Spock was tempted to explain that he had not been sleeping, that in fact he had been thinking of her, apparently even sensing her approach. The warm pressure of her knee against him made it very difficult to think clearly. At last he said, "That was…no ordinary touch. Are you telepathic?"

A slow blush spread over her features. "I don't think so. But it sometimes happens like that—not with thoughts, but feelings." The blush deepened. "I'm sorry about last night. _That_ sometimes happens, too."

Spock rose to his feet and Adrianna followed him up. He could not seem to distance himself from the young woman. Her hair, her skin, her eyes—everything about her was so golden and lovely that he found himself saying, "Well…you _are_ very beautiful."

A sweet smile spread over her face. "And _you_ are very kind."

In the next instant she caught him in a swift embrace. Then she turned and ran down the trail, leaving Spock's heart lurching wildly, his mind torn by conflicting impulses. _Call her back! No—I should not, I must not…_ His eyes lowered to his trembling fingers and he stared at them as if they belonged to someone else. What was happening to him? What manner of woman _was_ she?

Slowly, deliberately, he wrapped his hands around the biotricorder and aimed the sensitive instrument in Adrianna's direction. He switched it on. Readings flashed across the screen—totally unexpected data. Frowning, he punched the reprogramming tabs, but the readings popped back, unchanged. Surely not a malfunction. He took one step toward the thicket, and eyeing the information one last time, knew he would not be satisfied until Adrianna herself confirmed it. Precipitously opting for the most direct route, Spock by-passed the winding trail and plunged straight into the forest. Thorns caught at his clothing and vines ripped, scattering shade hens from their secret nests. As he broke onto a trail, just meters from Adrianna, a small branch snapped with a sickening spray of yellow bloodsap. There he froze, stunned by the deep undulating sound coming from the injured Tree, an agonized cry taken up by the entire treeclan.

Adrianna turned. With shock and displeasure she took in his bloodstained coat, the dirty smears and scratches on his face. Above the wailing she shouted, "What have you done!"

Some detached, scientific corner of Spock's mind urged him to switch on the tricorder and capture this eerie phenomenon, but his hands only wiped guiltily at the stickiness covering him.

"What have you done?" she repeated, her eyes flaming at him.

Even angry, she was compelling. Spock could not stop himself. Closing the distance between them, he caught hold of her sleeve. "Is it true?" he managed to say. "Are you only part human? A halfling?"

"Oh!" She spat the word. "So that's it! Am I only a lowbred mongrel? Go ahead, say what you really mean!" Some of the strength left Spock's grip; twisting away, Adrianna swung at him. Her hand lashed across his cheek. "Say it—my blood doesn't suit you! And I thought you were different! Well bigot, just take a good look at yourself—awash in the blood of the very creatures you came to study! Just listen to them now!" A sob shook her as she backed down the trail. Spock moved to follow her, but she raised a fist in warning. "No, don't come near me. I was wrong about you. Don't ever come near me again!"

ooooo

Day after day at the encampment, Spock forced himself to carry on as if nothing extraordinary had happened. His bruised, scratched face drew questions that he answered evasively. He pretended not to hear the whispers behind his back. No outer controversy could compare to the turmoil within him. Working in the treeclan kept him busy during the daylight hours. Nights were more difficult. While the research team slept, he lay on his bunk staring into the darkness, torn by memories of the strange, bitter confrontation in the woods.

He had not meant to hurt Adrianna. Certainly he had never intended to demean her in any way, but looking back, Spock felt ashamed of his unVulcan behavior that day. His tricorder had violated Adrianna's privacy. He had barged through the treeclan and questioned her as if she owed him an explanation—as if she were his. He had allowed his rioting emotions to overrule all reason and tact. He had acted no differently than her companion at the ball. _Why?_

Perhaps, Spock considered, he had become over-dependant on shipboard discipline to reinforce his Vulcan conditioning and keep others at a safe, comfortable distance. Alone on this alien world, without the familiar confines of military rank and rules, he suddenly felt adrift. He wished he were back aboard the Enterprise.

By the end of the week Spock was feeling the strain of constant restlessness, of skipped meals, of wakeful nights. He could not dismiss the angry halfling from his mind any more than he could wipe away the bruise from her hand. Adrianna had warned him to keep away. Yet in order to resolve the misunderstanding, he must speak with her. Through quiet inquiries he learned that Adrianna's surname was Lemoine. Both she and her French-born mother, Justrelle, were linguists who shared a home near the governor's palace.

That same night he walked the lamp-lit roads to the cottage on Burrow Street. Light streamed from its windows. Steeling himself, Spock climbed the stone steps to a porch enclosed by a vine-covered trellis. He knocked on the door. It eased open, revealing a middle-aged woman.

"What do _you_ want?" came the glacial demand.

Judging by her accent, this was Adrianna's mother. She was tall and comely, with the brown eyes and hair typical of many French descendants. Spock's attention shifted past her to the softly lit room, where he glimpsed movement. Inserting his boot strategically in the door gap, he said, "I am Commander Spock of Starfleet. I would like to speak with Adrianna Lemoine."

The door jammed his toe as the woman hissed, "Stick to your own kind, you long-eared alien stupide! Get out of here before I call the police!"

Racial prejudice was hardly new to Spock, but he had not expected to find it here. Coolly meeting the fierce loathing in her eyes, he said, "Madam, why not permit Adrianna to speak for herself?"

There was an explosive intake of breath, and then the door burst wide open. Adrianna stood before him, her cheeks flushed with anger. "Go away! You heard Mother, leave us alone!"

Spock withdrew his foot and the door slammed shut.

The jarring crash of that door haunted him for days. Small wonder that Adrianna was over-sensitive and volatile, living in the shadow of such hatred. This only confirmed that people were better rid of all emotion. Those mind-fretting distractions robbed life of order and harmony—they had no positive value. They weakened. They destroyed. They were as haunting as tearful eyes, as alluring as smooth golden skin, and they loomed ever larger in Spock's mind, defying even the soothing ritual of Vulcan meditation. For the first time in his life that inner sanctuary eluded him. However often he invoked the ancient quieting, each attempt fell short. For now, he set aside the effort.

He spent hours wandering the treeclan beneath its living, leafy canopy. The limb he had broken bore ugly scarring on its stump. Though Spock touched it gently and attempted to communicate his regret, the shaggy epidermis quivered and went cold with rejection. _It remembers,_ he realized, dutifully recording the scientific fact. The damaged Tree seemed to join Adrianna in accusing him. _Thoughtless! Selfish! Cruel!_

Spock slumped against the great trunk. His breath felt so heavy in his chest that his body ached from it. Self-absorbed, he scarcely noticed the quiet footsteps along the trail, but when the steps suddenly halted nearby, he roused himself enough to glance in that direction. His eyes locked onto pools of liquid amber. Icy shock surged through him, burned to fire, and sent his heart racing out of control. Very slowly he straightened to face Adrianna.

"You're following me!" she accused.

Spock made an effort to calm himself, and failed. "Following you? I have not moved from this spot."

"And you're not doing much work, by the look of it."

In a bitter tone he admitted, "These days I'm of little use to the research project—or even to myself.'

"What a shame," she said coldly. "Why don't you go home, then—where the bloodlines are purer?"

As she stalked down the trail Spock resisted the urge to catch, to hold her physically as he had before. But he could not let her go away thinking that he objected to her mixed blood. "Wait!" he called out. "Hear what I have to say!"

She whirled, her eyes blazing. "What can you possibly say to me? You, a purebred, pedigreed member of the Vulcan race. The son of an ambassador!"

Spock was not surprised that she had heard of Sarek. Though he never traded on his father's position, gossip had a way of following him even into the stars. "Some of your facts are in error. It is true that my father is an ambassador and a Vulcan. But I am neither 'purebred', as you put it, nor 'pedigreed'."

Adrianna stood rigidly silent as she dealt with the unexpected disclosure. She shook her head in disbelief. "How can that be true?"

Spock's mouth felt dry. Swallowing hard he said, "Because…my mother is human. Perhaps that is why I behaved so precipitously."

Adrianna studied his strong Vulcan features as if searching for some sign of the humanity he professed. Her delicate brows pulled together in a frown. "You mean…because of human emotion?"

The gold of her eyes was drawing him in again. Scarcely breathing, he ventured a step nearer. "No. Because…I had found someone much like myself."

Hesitantly Adrianna approached him and fingered the faded bruise on his face. In a thick whisper she said, "Oh no. What have I done?"

Leaves stirred in an evening breeze that seemed to sweep Spock's concerns away. All at once he felt free of conflict and completely sure of himself. He placed his hand over Adrianna's, so cool and intoxicating on his face. Softly he used her name for the first time. "Adrianna. It is alright. It was only a foolish misunderstanding."

Her lips parted as she gazed at him. "Can't we just start over…as if…as if…"

"As if we had just now met within the tangle of a thornvine?"

She nodded, her eyes large and welcoming.

ooooo

Nine days went by. Outside, a heavy storm soaked the treeclan, making fieldwork—and their daily tryst—impossible. When Adrianna appeared at Spock's bunkroom door, he could not turn her away. After an hour of conversation, the discussion veered toward personal matters. Carefully Spock answered a few questions, and then Adrianna began talking about herself. Seated in his only armchair, her body grew taut with the effort of self-revelation.

Spock rose from the foot of his bunk, where he had been sitting. "There is no need for this," he told her.

"No, Spock. I want to explain, not matter how difficult it is. You've already said something about your background. Your parents are married. They had you by choice because they wanted you." She shuddered. "My birth was the result of something quite different. Terror. Inhuman cruelty." Visibly bracing herself, she resolutely continued. "A couple of years before I was born, my mother moved with her husband to the planet Sydok. They were conducting research on the development of the modern global language."

Spock recalled that Sydok era from his Academy studies. It was not a pleasant story. A fleet of Donari marauders had dropped down on the peaceable Sydoks, brutally ending a twenty-one year truce between the sister-planets. Many Sy had been slaughtered, and many more captured and enslaved. There were accounts of breeding experiments resulting in many children of mixed blood. From his earlier tricording, Spock knew that Adrianna was part Sy, but he let her continue without interruption, in her own way.

"Spock, there was no warning. None. The defense net had been sabotaged; the invasion warning system was out, too. By the time the Donaris burst through the atmosphere, it was too late. They destroyed everything in sight. They cut down anyone who resisted. Others, they took prisoner and herded into landing craft. My mother…and my father were among those."

"Your father was…" prompted Spock.

"Sydok. But it wasn't his fault," she was quick to add. "Mother says he was a good and gentle man, but no one could resist the drugs they used. They were lucky to have survived at all. Her husband didn't. You see, he was considered too old for a breeder."

Spock briefly paced the narrow confines of the room and turned back to her. "That experience could certainly account for your mother's antagonism toward me. She may find the mere sight of an alien distressing."

Adrianna nodded. "It was over a year before the Federation forces rescued her. By then she was…quite pregnant."

"And what of your father?" Spock asked. "The Sydok."

"I don't know what became of him. Mother says his name was Jory." She drew in a deep, unsteady breath. "She settled here on Ildarani a month before I was born. In spite of the memories, in spite of everything that happened—she's shown me nothing but love and acceptance." A sob caught in her throat.

Spock looked aside, granting her the privacy in which to regain her composure. He heard her rise. Her arms slipped around him and she nestled against his shoulder. The unexpected contact sent a powerful flood of her emotions surging past his mental barriers. As he held her it became more and more difficult to resist the urgent feelings they aroused. Then his tenuous control gave way. Drawing Adrianna hard against him, he kissed her hair, her face, her mouth.

By a supreme effort of will, he pulled away.

"Well," she said, smiling into his eyes.

ooooo

Spock did not invite Adrianna back into his room. He had slipped badly. Adrianna's beauty was captivating, her baffling moods a never-ending source of fascination. Just thinking about her could bring a secret smile to his lips—more expression than he had permitted himself in months, in years. Best of all were the times they spent together. Indulging her love of language, Spock taught her Vulcan as they explored remote areas of the treeclan. They dared not be seen in public, and he carefully kept the full extent of their relationship from the eyes of his colleagues. No gossip must reach Adrianna's volatile mother…and perhaps even spread beyond this planet. If Spock's family should find out—his stomach sickened at the idea. Each move he took closer to Adrianna only worsened the tangle he was creating. He could not seem to stop himself. Yet, somehow, he _must_.

After observing a Tree meld late one afternoon, Adrianna playfully drew his fingers to her temple and said, "My turn!"

Spock jerked his hand away, then immediately covered his discomposure by speaking notes into the tricorder. An awkward moment passed before Adrianna reached out and switched on the tricorder's input button.

"It works better like that," she said, watching him quietly.

Without acknowledging his error, Spock turned off the instrument and started down the shadowy trail. "We had best leave now," he said over his shoulder. "Bengatis abound in this region after dark."

With a few quick strides Adrianna overtook him, placing herself squarely in his path. "It's not the Tree snakes that are troubling you—is it? You've been acting a little strange all day."

Spock stared at his whitened fingertips gripping the tricorder. "The bengatis swallow their victims alive…and I find that a most troubling prospect."

"Don't worry," she teased. "I won't let them eat you." Slipping her hands behind his neck, she drew him into a slow, deep kiss. As always, the intensity of her desire pounded Spock's mental barriers and began to burn through. Grasping her wrists, he broke free of the tantalizing contact and stepped away from her.

Adrianna searched his face in confusion. "Something _is_ wrong. You'll meld with a Tree, but you won't offer me even a simple mind touch." A look of hurt moistened her eyes. "Is it because I'm part Sy? Sy instead of Vulcan?"

"No," Spock quickly denied. He started reaching for her and thrust his hands into his pockets. "No," he repeated in a carefully controlled voice, "you are mistaken." How could he explain? Just being near her produced an intense yearning that strained his mental barriers. With every touch he risked losing control of himself again, perhaps completely. And that he dared not do. From the beginning, their relationship had been hopeless. Why had he allowed it to grow, to deepen?

It must end. He must end it—now.

Meeting the halfling's expectant gaze, Spock inwardly braced himself. Each word was a wrenching effort. "Please…don't misunderstand. I have found your companionship most pleasant. But any mental or physical contact between us is…not appropriate. In fact, it would be best if…if I did not see you again."

Her mouth dropped open. "But why!"

Bitterly Spock said, "Because I am not free," and escaped into the forest shadows.

The last glimmer of daylight was giving way to darkness when he turned from his dispirited wandering and entered the encampment trail. Stars shone faintly through the tangled canopy overhead. Leafy branches shivered with the sudden wakening of night creatures. Quickening his pace, Spock considered the twenty-seven healthy bengatis counted in the last biological survey—mature, territorial serpents that jealously guarded this New Florida treeclan. In the past Ildaran year, two hapless colonists had passed through bengati jaws to their deaths. An unarmed humanoid stood little chance against the steely-muscled giants.

Once again, logic had given way to emotion, and now he would face the consequences. Moving warily among the snakelike Tree roots, he could only hope that Adrianna had gone straight home. He reminded himself that all of New Florida _was_ her home. This treeclan had served as her private playground since childhood. Even upset, she was not likely to expose herself to serious danger. She would never travel along a dark, isolated path such as this.

High in the branches above, Spock heard a suspicious scrape, then leaves swishing. He sensed rather saw the predatory form hurtling downward, and leapt aside. His boot wedged in a root nest. There was no way to stop his fall, no way to fend off the descending threat as his ankle wrenched and he slammed into the rough ground. For one breathless second the impact left him completely helpless. His body reacted instinctively when the touch came. All senses primed to defend his life, he turned. A shadowy face hovered over him.

"Adrianna!" he gasped.

Her fingers tightened on his shoulder, releasing a sharp current of anger. "You fool!" she said. Then, a bit more calmly, "Are you alright?"

Spock's eyes darted over the dusky length of trail, the solemn black Tree trunks and gently swaying branches. "I believe so," he replied at last, leaning forward to inspect his fiercely throbbing ankle. "I don't think it is broken."

"You're lucky to be alive," she lectured. "Any downed creature is fair game to a mingbat. If I hadn't come along, you'd be dinner about now."

Spock had a higher opinion of his survival skills. But rather than debate the issue, he pitted his strength against the tangle of roots trapping him, and his boot came free. With help from Adrianna he managed to stand. The touch of her hands proved more distracting than the pain as he limped along experimentally. But clearly he would need her help.

"This way," she said with a tug in the opposite direction. "There's an old trail to my cottage around the corner."

Spock almost objected. Then it occurred to him that he _should_ see her safely to her house. It was only proper. "As you wish," he said, surrendering to her firm guidance. As they turned onto a grassy, little used track he added, "I'd have thought you would be home already. I do not understand why you put yourself at risk wandering around after dark."

She laughed. "Look who's talking! Spock, I may be upset with you, but I wasn't about to leave the treeclan until I was sure you were safe."

So she had followed him! Spock's step faltered, but containing his chagrin, he moved lamely ahead. They broke out of the treeclan, onto the wide expanse of meadowland skirting the rural settlement. Lights glimmered from cottages clustered like fallen stars around the single illuminated spire of the governor's palace. Spock focused on the ornate spire, forcing Adrianna's nearness from his mind, forcing away every thought but one. _I am Vulcan._ The words steadied him. _Vulcan…Vulcan…Vulcan…_

Insistent fingers pulled him toward the settlement, but he resisted their enticing pressure. "Thank you," he said formally, "but my ankle is better now. Walking to the encampment should pose no problem."

Adrianna's grip tightened disturbingly. Her face looked pale and anxious in the starlight. "No Spock, come home with me. It's much closer. You can borrow my skimmer and fly back to the encampment."

The blood began to pound in Spock's ears. Somehow his arm moved. His fingers touched the velvet of Adrianna's cheek. _But_ w _hat was he doing?_ Abruptly he withdrew his hand. Glad of the darkness, he fought to bring himself back under control. "Your home?" he managed to say. "That would not be wise. Think of your mother."

"She isn't there, Spock. Mother's attending an out of town seminar."

The earth seemed to shift beneath him. _Dangerous ground._ If he did not move soon, his injured ankle—and perhaps all of him—might give way completely. He commanded himself to leave her, yet in the next instant he was saying, "Very well."

Soon they stood on the secluded porch of Adrianna's cottage. As her hand touched the door latch, she gazed up searchingly at Spock. "You say we can't meld. You say you aren't free. Yet…a moment ago you wanted to join with me. I _felt_ it."

A sudden heat rolled up Spock's collar and he averted his face. All across the meadow she had sensed his desire for her. Even now she might be sensing it. There truly was no escaping her.

She opened the front door. "Come in and rest your foot for a while. I'll get you something to drink."

Spock met her pleading eyes and he knew he could not leave her…just yet. Adrianna helped him inside. The comfortable-looking room held no surprises. Delicately patterned walls, a plump sofa and chairs, thick mauve carpeting under foot. She reached for his coat, and it seemed a most natural thing for her to slip the garment from his shoulders.

"Here, sit down," she invited and helped him to the sofa. "Why don't you take off that boot? I have an ice wrap you can use."

"That is not necessary," Spock replied. "We Vulcans deal with injuries in our own way. I can detect some improvement already."

"Really." Adrianna gazed at him with intense interest. Then she hung her coat next to his on a row of wall hooks by the door. The sweater she wore underneath looked handmade. Patterned with subtle earth tones, it clung to her slim figure as she went from the room. She returned with a matching pair of tall glasses.

Spock accepted one. He sipped the tart red beverage and ventured to say, "A fogberry blend?"

"Bingo."

Puzzled, Spock raised an eyebrow.

Adrianna laughed and sank into the nearest chair. "Old English slang. It means you've hit the nail right on the head. And don't worry, it's not alcoholic. I wouldn't want to get you drunk."

The "nail" reference only added to Spock's confusion. He drank deeply of the juice. Such pleasing warmth spread through his body that he said, "Surely there _is_ some alcoholic element to this beverage."

"Not alcoholic, Spock. _Medicinal_."

"Ah." He had heard humans call liquor "medicinal". He set the glass on a table beside him. It was time to go. He was about to test his ankle when Adrianna spoke again.

"You're married, aren't you?"

Spock's heart lurched. His eyes went to the halfling. She was not smiling now.

"You said you're not free."

Spock struggled with his notions of Vulcan privacy. Had Adrianna a right to such delicate information? Clearly his behavior gave her that right. He had gone too far. It was no longer a matter of propriety—it was a matter of personal embarrassment.

In the silence Adrianna rose and came up behind the sofa. Her hands found the rigid muscles along Spock's shoulders and began a slow, intoxicating massage. As the tension resisted her, she sighed. "What _are_ you hiding? You've never said it, but I know you love me. I can feel it right through my fingertips."

Spock shrugged away from her seductive touch. Rising up, he scarcely noticed his tender ankle as he confronted her. "You presume a great deal."

Adrianna faced him, flushed and defiant. "Go ahead then, deny it. Say you _don't_ love me."

Spock stood rigidly setting himself against her irresistible beauty. The effort made his voice sound harsh. "It is unfortunate that you have read so much into our relationship."

"Oh no, you're not going to get away with that!" Her amber eyes flamed as she thrust herself between Spock and the door. "Look at me. Have you forgotten how much we've already shared?" Spock looked at her. No, he had not forgotten. As his shoulders slumped in defeat, Adrianna touched his cheek gently and he did not pull away. "I don't understand that Vulcan reasoning of yours. How can it be logical to deny your own feelings?"

He shook his head wearily. "You do not understand. I cannot—we _must_ not continue." Taking a deep, shaky breath he confessed, "There _is_ another. On Vulcan. We were…betrothed as children, in the customary manner, and she waits there now for…for the time of marriage." Adrianna's fingers went still, frozen on the firm plane of his cheek. Spock could not meet her eyes. "I'm sorry. I really _am not free."_

Her hand left Spock's face to gesture impatiently. "So that's what you meant. I can't believe it—an arranged marriage! And what are your feelings in the matter?"

He looked up, honestly surprised at such a question. "Vulcan bonding is not left to the vagaries of animal passion. It is a family concern, decided ahead of time in a logical manner." Realizing the insinuation of his own words—that he had no passion for his betrothed—he glanced aside and added stiffly. "It is the way of things."

Adrianna studied him. "You feel nothing for her, nothing for her at all. You don't even say her name."

Spock's reply came painfully slow. "We are joined…even now. Parted…yet never apart, bound together until…our marriage is finalized."

"And when will that be? Why hasn't it happened?"

That question Spock would not answer. How could he speak of Vulcan pon farr and the plak tow bonding his betrothed demanded? It was her right. She would not settle for less, and so their marriage had been delayed far beyond the Vulcan norm—delayed, perhaps, indefinitely. Spock's halfling physiology was different from that of a full-blooded Vulcan.

As the silence stretched, Adrianna turned away. Now was the time to leave. Instead, Spock came up from behind and slid his arms around her waist.

"Well," she said, her voice soft and challenging. "Who's to say which 'way of things' is right…or wrong? I only know that I love you." She turned in Spock's embrace and faced him, so warm and desirable that the breath caught in his throat. In flawless Vulcan, she whispered, " _M'ra tu_ _beru_."

The words set Spock's heart pounding out of control. _Be thou with me._ He had not taught her that phrase. Did she know its true intent? He might have summoned the strength for one final protest— _No! This is not right, I will not!_ —but he so wanted, so needed what lay before him that he ignored the pleading of his conscience. Then her mouth was on his, silencing that inner voice with a strange, heady rush of emotion. Pulling Adrianna closer, he abandoned himself to the pleasure.


	2. Chapter 2

"You were dreaming."

Spock opened his eyes, tensing for an instant before memory connected. He lay in Adrianna's bed. She gazed down at him with concern, golden hair spilling over her bare shoulders. His conscience began to stir. Firmly pushing it aside, he stretched and said, "Are you a dream?"

Adrianna relaxed into a smile. Taking his hand, she placed his fingertips to her temple in invitation, and Spock unashamedly joined her thoughts. For unmeasured time their minds mingled with such love that Spock wondered how he had survived the dry, solitary years. But a sudden, troubling image intruded—a woman-child waiting to claim him on some Vulcan desert plain. How could he go to T'Pring after what he had shared with Adrianna this long night?

The halfling saw the direction of his thoughts and Spock felt her keen jealousy. Her hand lingered on the smooth skin over his ribs as she said aloud, "Forget her. She belongs to the past now."

But it was not easy for Spock to separate his past from the present. Vulcans valued their traditions. Vulcans honored their commitments. He found his mind drifting back yet again to that distant world and its concerns.

"…Spock, Spock." A gentle, insistent voice drew him back into Adrianna's presence. Her hand tipped his chin and she bent down to kiss him. Every worry and regret fled away as he tasted the urgent warmth of her desire.

ooooo

Spock returned to the research base at midday and was relieved that his disappearance had drawn little notice. The relaxed atmosphere at the encampment contrasted sharply with the tight scheduling and discipline aboard a starship. Here, the scientists merely attributed his absence to "solitary Vulcan ways". There were no questions, only a few tasteless attempts at humor that came uncomfortably close to the truth.

He resumed his research with only half-hearted interest. Concentration was difficult and his work suffered as a result. All through the warm, hazy days of Ildaran summer, thoughts of Adrianna consumed him. Many a time he caught himself staring into thin air like a human, foolishly reliving their hours together—hours of illicit pleasure stolen from another. _Forget her,_ Adrianna would urge, but Spock could not forget. He had broken faith with his betrothed and with the expectations of his family. And now it could be argued that he was also breaking faith with Adrianna. From the first mind touch he had instinctively hidden the full scope of his dilemma from her. He had never opened to her completely, never shared the humiliating facts of Vulcan manhood. The pon farr. The Time of mating madness. When his hour came—though he hoped that his human blood might spare him from its full effect—he would burn with a lust as mindless as any drug state induced by the Donaris. He would commit rape to satisfy the brutal demands of his Vulcan blood…or die trying.

Who but another Vulcan could endure that, forgive him that, and draw off his shame in the healing he would need to go on living afterward? Spock's mind turned to his human mother and Vulcan father. He felt uncomfortable envisioning his parents' intimate life. His thoughts narrowed to a dark bedroom door, firmly shut, and he wavered like a curious, guilty child before it. Perhaps what transpired there in private moments had given the human Amanda the strength she needed every seven years. If only he could be sure that Adrianna would be such a bondmate, that she would never shrink from him in horror and perhaps even leave him to die.

With his leave coming to an end, Spock knew he must decide soon. Choose the safe, sane path of Vulcan custom, or continue along the path of rebellion and sever his link with T'Pring, his one certain promise of security as a Vulcan male.

Was that all T'Pring had become to him? An element of his survival? A useful object?

As a gray dawn marked the passage of another restless night, Spock rose from an unsatisfactory meditation and began stretching his body in the Vulcan manner. The Enterprise was returning for him tomorrow, and still he floundered in indecision, at war with the demands of his conscience. A choice that should have been as simple and clear as any equation was driving him to frustration. Logic seemed to have forsaken him completely. The thought of leaving Adrianna left him aching and empty.

A quiet rapping on the door broke into his dark reverie—then came a warm, seeking tendril of thought. With a thrill of recognition Spock straightened. Adrianna here? Though he knew it would court gossip, he called out, "Yes, come in!"

The door swung open and Adrianna slipped into the cramped quarters. Spock regarded her with undisguised affection. Soundlessly she crossed the room and greeted him with a kiss. In an answering rush of pleasure he embraced her, but she pulled away. Only then did he notice the disquiet in her eyes. His heart gave a sickening lurch—and in that single instant of fear he knew there would be no leaving her…willingly. Had there ever been a choice? His path was now irrevocably joined with this woman's, wherever it might lead.

"Something is wrong," he managed to say. Had she learned of the pon farr on her own? Now would she tell him goodbye?

A weak smile pulled at her lips. She looked flushed, nervous. "It's Mother. She's found out about us. Everything. She's absolutely furious."

Spock let out a slow breath of relief. Though the news was not good, he could face Justrelle's wrath. He could face even the censure of his Vulcan relatives as long as Adrianna was beside him. Taking her hands, he said, "It had to happen eventually. We could not go on hiding our relationship." The amber eyes lifted, deep and penetrating in their apprehension. "You are not a child. She cannot control you. Gather your belongings and bring them here. We'll be married by my captain when my ship comes tomorrow."

The slim, feminine hands felt almost feverish in his grasp, but Adrianna broke into a smile of joy.

ooooo

Silver-rimmed clouds drifted low in the sunset. High overhead the sky deepened to purple as Spock stood watching fliers wing home to their burrow nests. Soon he, too, would have a home, perhaps even children of his own. _Marriage._ All this last day he had wandered deep in the treeclan, preferring to work rather than confront his misgivings. Now, in the lingering dusk, he spoke the word aloud. "Marriage." It sounded so very human. No Vulcan bonding ceremony, no traditional linking of minds. Well then—they _were_ half human and they would bond in their own time, their own way.

And now that he was committing himself to such a marriage, there were other, equally serious considerations. Foremost among them was his Starfleet career. There were no provisions made for families aboard starships. With T'Pring, that would not have mattered. There was no driving need to be at her side; his normal leaves would have been sufficient. Adrianna changed everything. He would need to request a base posting—give up Space exploration—and if that were not possible? Spock dreaded the thought of leaving Starfleet altogether, but life sometimes demanded hard choices. Were his decisions any more difficult than those faced by others?

He had tarried long enough. By now Adrianna would surely be awaiting him. With that thought, Spock slowly headed down the encampment trail, but when he arrived at the bunkhouse Adrianna was not there. And neither were her belongings.

Only moments ago he had felt his commitment to her wavering, yet now, faced with the possibility of losing her, he experienced something very much like panic. Where _was_ she? What had become of her? Had she changed her mind…or was this her mother's doing?

Street lamps were brightening to life, casting an eerie glow on the misty evening air when Spock reached the cottage on Burrow Street. After several firm knocks, the door cracked open.

"You again!" Justrelle hissed through a chain-secured slit. "Did I not make myself clear? You and your kind are not welcome!"

Mindful of the reason behind Justrelle's hostility, Spock attempted to be polite. "I have not come to see you, Madam. I've come for Adrianna."

"Are you deaf?" she shrilled. "You tromper, you fool, I have—"

"Tell Adrianna I am here," he cut in, readying to stop the door from closing. "Surely you realize that she is a grown woman. You cannot hope to impose your will on her."

Justrelle narrowly appraised him. "Sorry, lover boy." The slow words reeked sarcasm. "My daughter is too sick for romancing."

Spock's face burned. A single thrust of his arm could snap the flimsy chain barring his way, but for now he rejected the tempting idea. Violence would only fuel this woman's hatred, and there was a possibility that she was telling the truth about Adrianna. It may have been something other than emotion coloring her cheeks this morning, and making her hands so warm. Surely if Adrianna was well, she would have come to the door by now.

His mind reached toward Justrelle with conciliatory thoughts, but the many layers of malice resisted him. He remembered the tricorder still slung over his shoulder. Taking it in his hands, he said, "This instrument can provide and evaluate some medical data. I am trained in its use."

Justrelle stared at him long and hard. Boldly meeting her dark eyes, Spock used his mind on her again.

Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You are not a doctor."

"True," Spock said, "but I can operate this diagnostic tool." And he added, "It may save you the expense of a doctor."

The woman considered a moment longer, then a chain rattled. Justrelle swung the door open. "Be quick," she said with a wave, stepping far back to avoid any physical contact between them.

Spock hurried to the bedroom with Justrelle's shout ringing in his ears. "Keep your hands off her!"

He was first to reach Adrianna's bedside and his fingers stole defiantly over the flushed cheek nestled in the blankets. Her eyes opened wearily. "Spock…" she said in a hoarse voice, and her hand fumbled to find his. Justrelle arrived and tore the limp fingers from his grasp.

Keeping taut control over his emotions, Spock ran the tricorder and concentrated on its disturbing data. "It does not appear to be contagious, however…" raising his eyes to Justrelle Lemoine, he said with grave emphasis, "this is a very serious illness. We must bring her to Doctor McCoy."

ooooo

The starship Enterprise lay in orbit above Ildarani. All day Spock had avoided sickbay so as not to be conspicuous. With day shift coming to an end, he entered Doctor McCoy's office and asked if there had been a diagnosis in Adrianna Lemoine's case.

McCoy ran a hand through his rumpled hair and eyed Spock strangely. "She's an interesting hybrid, that one. A real beautiful lady. Unfortunately…"

Inwardly Spock braced himself. "Yes?"

"Unfortunately, she's also a very sick lady. Have you ever heard of J'Reneset Syndrome?"

"I am not familiar with that term," Spock admitted.

McCoy released a sigh and seemed to fumble for words. "The syndrome is…uh...really quite obscure. It…afflicts only young Sy females. Very destructive, I'm afraid…" He paused to nibble at his lip. "Pregnancy is the triggering factor and…nothing can stop its progression…not even if the pregnancy were terminated."

 _Pregnant!_ Spock could scarcely contain his dismay. It was not possible for him—a Vulcan—to impregnate a woman outside his Time. That could only mean that Adrianna had lain with another. Perhaps her aggressive partner at the Governor's Ball?

Very quietly McCoy said, "You didn't know…did you? Spock. The baby is _yours—_ and it's a girl. _"_

Spock stared at the doctor, scarcely comprehending. He felt his knees start to give way and sank into a chair. "Impossible. That is completely contrary to Vulcan physiology."

"I know. Vulcans become fertile only once every seven years, during the pon farr. Are you telling me that…while you were on leave…" McCoy's voice trailed off. He cleared his throat.

Deeply embarrassed, Spock admitted, "It was not my Time."

McCoy nodded. "Well…you're not entirely Vulcan, are you? One has to expect some variations from the norm." The doctor's eyebrows arched. "I suppose now you're going to tell me that you two didn't…dance the horizontal dance?"

Spock understood the doctor's meaning well enough and saw no reason to answer. His silence was humiliating enough.

A long moment passed before McCoy spoke again. "The captain has agreed to transport Adrianna and her mother to Starfleet Medical Center, since we're headed to Earth anyway. That's where she can get the best treatment. Even with the finest medical care, the recovery rate is estimated at …only about five percent. Of course," he quickly added, "there's also her humanness to consider, as well as other factors beyond the scope of medicine—even if you won't acknowledge them. Things like luck…and love."

Slowly Spock rose from the chair and was about to leave the office when a thought struck him. "The captain—does he know…"

McCoy riled. "What do you take me for? I'm a doctor, for godsake, not a back fence gossip!"

ooooo

…Spock's mind drifted back to the present. At Starfleet Medical Center, the day staff had come on duty. To Spock it meant only another change of personnel at the nurses' station; just another guard keeping him locked away from the frail patient in room 204. In reality it was not the staff, however, but Adrianna herself who had denied him visiting privileges and even health updates since leaving the Enterprise. He had been told that she was angry with him, and that was surely understandable. The child she was carrying— _his_ child—had sickened her like a disease. But he suspected there was something more at work here, namely, the bitter influence of her mother. If only he could reach Adrianna's side and let her know of his continuing support.

Spock gazed at the metal security door and considered the possibility of breeching it. Suddenly the door opened. Justrelle Lemoine came out and caught sight of him. Dark eyes flaming with hatred, she strode into the waiting area. Spock rose to meet her.

Justrelle nearly shouted. "She does not want you around, comprenez vous? Not today, not ever, not after what you have done to her!"

Spock was aware of the duty nurse looking up, listening. In a low voice he said, "Madam, can you at least tell me her condition?"

Justrelle spat on his coat and strode away.

Stunned and revolted, Spock watched her disappear down the long corridor that led to the turbolift. He found a rest room and cleaned himself. Then, once again, he approached the nurses' station.

The nurse looked up, clearly embarrassed over what she had witnessed. "Yes, sir? Can I help you?"

Spock took a moment to review his decision, another moment to gather the mental energy he would need. This was becoming all too easy. Fingering the cool countertop, he focused the same telepathic ability he had used on Ildarani to get past Adrianna's mother. With all his strength he projected a single thought at the unsuspecting nurse.

 _Open the door._

She frowned. One hand rose absently to her temple, rubbing at the confusion. Then her face cleared. Reaching for a switch panel, she pressed a bright red button.

Spock froze, expecting an alarm. Instead, the security doors slid aside.

He hurried through and quickly located room 204. Adrianna lay with her eyes closed, her golden hair spread over the pillow. She was pale to the lips, yet beautifully captivating. A quick glance at the monitor above her bed revealed vital signs buoyed by life support systems.

Spock leaned over her and spoke. "Adrianna." There was no response. With a gentle shake he repeated, "Adrianna." Still nothing. She appeared to be comatose.

Spock's long fingers clenched the bed rail with a pain that helped steady him. He had made his decision, but he must be swift. Now that the nurse's mind was free, he might be discovered at any moment. Unclamping his fingers, he settled them over a limp, unresponsive hand. A sudden wave of emotion threatened his composure, but he blinked back the hot rush of moisture stinging his eyes. _No! Not here, not now when there was finally a chance to reach her…_ He drew a breath deep into his lungs and slowly expelled it. Gently he arranged his fingertips over the facial contact points…and with an abrupt mental thrust, delved for the sweet consciousness.

 _Blackness swallowed him. Silence, but for the incessant roar of blood surging, surging._ In growing alarm he explored the dark empty currents, probing blindly for even a flicker of awareness…

Abruptly the probe ended—an unseen force wrenched Spock's hands away from Adrianna's face.

"You there!" a woman shouted. "What do you think you're doing?"

Spock's mind began to clear. He found himself surrounded by medical and security personnel. His eyes traveled to Adrianna's body and he managed a hoarse response. "I…I only meant to…"

A gray-haired doctor wearing commander stripes motioned toward the door. Spock was firmly guided down a short hallway to an office, where he was seated under the watchful gaze of two security men.

The doctor addressed him. "My name is Benton Ward. I don't know who you are or how you got past security, but I strongly suggest that you explain yourself right now."

Spock sat back in his chair. Tiredly he recited, "Commander Spock S'chn T'gai, serial number S179-276SP. Current posting, U.S.S. Enterprise. As for the patient, Miss Lemoine is… _was_ …an acquaintance of mine. I had only hoped to…speak with her."

Ward consulted his computer screen. Looking distinctly uncomfortable, he sent the guards from the room. "Okay," he said, "your identity checks out. As for what's happened here…it's not so much your idea of "speaking" to the patient, but the fact that you had no business being there in the first place."

Spock might have revealed the deeply personal "business" that surely gave him some rights. He preferred silence.

Apparently, so did Benton Ward. With his eyes back on his computer, he said, "You have an exemplary service record. I'd like to keep this out of official channels, if possible. After all, there was no real harm done." He called up more information on the screen. "I see that Doctor Leonard McCoy has remained a consulting physician on the Lemoine case…and you two are shipmates. Good. I don't have time for this. I'll let him deal with it."

ooooo

Doctor McCoy responded to the summons with a nagging sense of disquiet. The instant he entered Benton's office and found Spock under guard, he knew his intuition had been right on target. There was trouble in the air.

The short briefing held few surprises. Then the office cleared and he was alone with Spock. Still standing, McCoy shook his head ruefully. "Dammit, you've really outdone yourself this time."

The Vulcan leaned toward him. "Doctor, how long has Adrianna Lemoine been brain dead?"

McCoy settled behind Ward's desk and changed the subject. "No Spock, you tell _me_ something. How in blazes did you slip past the duty nurse?"

Spock sighed. "It was not through any fault of hers."

"I just bet it wasn't!" McCoy exclaimed. "What's wrong with you?" He stopped and lowered his voice. "Nevermind. I _know_ what's wrong with you. I just never thought I'd see the day when you'd let your emotions override common sense."

"Is that how you regard it?" Spock's eyes flamed. Rising, he placed his palms on the desktop and leaned toward McCoy. "Very well, then. A Vulcan in the throes of emotion can be quite dangerous. I strongly advise you to come forward with the information I'm requesting. I repeat. How long, doctor? How long has she been functionally dead?"

McCoy leapt to his feet in defensive anger. "What's this? So now you're threatening me? Get a grip, man! Leave it alone! An hour? A week? What difference can it possibly make? She's gone! All that matters now is the child!"

Spock straightened. Perhaps seeing in McCoy's outburst a mirror of his own frustration, he brought himself back under control. But it was McCoy, shoulders slumping wearily, who finally spoke. "Why, Spock? Why is it so important for you to know? That's privileged information. Only her mother, as next of kin—" He blinked. "Oh, wait. Don't tell me. It's _her_ you're after, isn't it?"

" A short time ago, she said Adrianna did not want to see me. An obvious lie, considering. How long did her lies keep us apart?"

McCoy looked upon his shipmate with genuine sympathy. "Spock, she's just a foolish, vindictive woman. Hasn't there already been enough pain? Just let it go. Promise me."

The Vulcan answered with stony silence.

ooooo

Today there had been times when Spock seriously considered revenge. Curious, that he felt so little anger in this moment of confrontation. His eyes roamed almost dispassionately over the sparse furnishings of Justrelle Lamoine's hotel room. It bore no resemblance to the homey cottage left behind on Ildarani. This place was strictly functional—a sterile, lonely way station adjacent to the medical center.

His gaze settled on Adrianna's mother. She was clearly furious that he had located her and forced his way in.

"So you found out she is gone—morte!" Justrelle shouted at him. "Are you satisfied? I tried to warn you how this would end, but you would not listen, would you? You had to keep coming around her, you would not give her up because of the way she made you _feel_." Hands on her hips, she beheld him with contempt. "Well, how do you feel now that she is dead—now that she died hating you, you bastard!"

"Did she?" Spock said levelly. "Only today you claimed that Adrianna did not want me visiting her. She could not possibly have said such a thing. She was already brain dead. How long have you kept that fact from me?"

Justrelle's eyes glittered dangerously. "Listen to you! Why do you still persist? Have you not figured it out yet? Have you not wondered how it was that she could stir the icy-thin blood of a Vulcan—un etranger like you?"

Spock's face warmed. There had been many times when he wondered, when he struggled with private shame for his lack of control. Thinking of what the birth of an illegitimate daughter would mean in terms of _public_ shame made his stomach twist into a knot.

"Well?" Justrelle's voice was strident and demanding. "Think about it, Vulcan, it there is anything left of your mind. Think of how you hungered after her like an animal in heat." She nodded her head knowingly. "Mais oui. Some Sydoks have a way with men—with les hommes—so I had read, and as Adrianna grew into womanhood I saw the truth of it. Over and over and over again. Oh, yes. Did you honestly believe you were the first?"

Suddenly Spock had had enough of this spiteful woman. He wanted to leave—leave quickly, before she could say anything more. Since finding Adrianna dead, there had been no chance to properly assimilate the shock, and the shocks kept coming. He could no longer seem to think clearly. Too late, he realized that he should have saved this crucial meeting for another day. He needed time alone to calm and re-order his mind, but Justrelle's next words kept him rooted to the spot.

"My daughter was a Sy-jeera. A Sy-witch. Surely you have heard of them. They are like cats the way they toy with men, only smarter. They can build pleasure out of pain. They can tear a man's heart from his chest and leave him grateful for the attention. 'Merci,' he will cry, "me donner plus! Give me more!'"

"That is only legend," Spock said, but his words lacked conviction. The hollow ache like a wound in his own chest seemed to verify Justrelle's ugly claim. He recalled a crude story he had heard in his academy days of a Sy-jeera and her bungling, foolish victims. "You say that you tried to warn me, yet you made no mention of Sy-jeera then."

"Would you have believed me? You may be Vulcan, but you are a man just the same. Telling would not have convinced you once Adrianna wove her spell. It would only have inflamed your mindless loyalty. Mindless, stupid tromper!"

Spock turned from her.

"Oh, does that hurt?" Justrelle did not wait for an answer. "Bonne," she sneered, "good. I hope it hurts like hell. I knew someday Adrianna was going to pick the wrong man. You and your alien seed murdered my daughter, just as surely as the Donaris murdered my husband on Sydok. You bastard! I would have ended Adrianna's pregnancy to save her life—I would have rid her of your seed. But by then it was already too late. She would have died anyway..." Her voice trailed off and she seemed to shrink with grief. "Now…that child…is all I have left. Un petit enfant…a little unborn Sy-jeera."

 _A little unborn Sy-jeera._ The words lanced into Spock. According to legend, Sy-witchery _was_ inherited. All at once he envisioned the baby growing in Adrianna's womb—a monstrous little creature with the incipient power to stir up and manipulate male passions. The thought repelled him.

"The child is all I have left," Justrelle repeated in a firmer tone, "and I intend to keep her. I intend to raise her as my own, comprenez-vous? I will give you fair warning, long-ears. Try to interfere, even come near the girl once, and I will instill in her such loathing that she will gladly kill you…if I do not kill you first."

The sickness rose in Spock's throat—a hot, bitter taste like murder itself. Slowly he moved to the door and paused there, one hand on the latch. He could not bring himself to look at Justrelle Lamoine, even knowing that it would be the last time. In a ragged voice he vowed, "I have no child."

"Then out!" she exploded. "I did not ask you to come here! Get out of my sight!"

Swallowing a primitive surge of rage, Spock opened the door. There was an odd sound behind him, like a grunt of exertion. He hesitated and began to turn back. In the corner of his eye he saw an object hurtling toward him. Then pain shot through his skull. Shards of glass struck the wall, the door. Dazed, he held his head and staggered into the doorframe. Warm liquid gushed through his fingers. He moved them down his ear, to his neck, and found blood spurting. The collar of his coat was wet.

Justrelle observed the green flow with malicious pleasure. "Perhaps my aim was bad. No matter. Nothing is so firm as a contract sealed in blood."

Spock forced himself upright. The bitter image of Justrelle blurred and wobbled.

"Go ahead," she smirked, "swear—I am sure you want to. _T'Vareth_ , _kres'ta_ _vora_ - _kam!_ You know the Vulcan words—say them, you pig!"

But Spock had no breath for swearing. Lifting his hand from his neck, he stared at the gory fingers. He could feel blood gushing from his jugular vein, feel his strength slipping with each pulse. And it occurred to him that he might actually bleed to death unless he could stop the alarming flow.

He could expect no help from Justrelle Lamoine and he was not carrying a communicator or phone. He made a fleeting attempt to control the pain and slow his circulatory system, but his mind was sluggish from the blow. Wanting only to get out of Justrelle's sight, he left the hotel room and began an unsteady walk. Down the long empty hallway and into the elevator, Spock felt each heartbeat forcing more blood between his fingers. He touched the ground floor button. A sudden downward motion upset his balance and he grabbed for the support bar. His hand slid on the metal and he nearly fell. The doors opened and he lurched into the quiet lobby. He stood, wavering.

Someone came through the front entrance. There was a draft of cool air, a sharp scent of damp pavement. Shivering, Spock let his hand drop to his side. His breath came in shallow, unsatisfying gasps as he felt the blood draining from his body.

 _Blood. Nothing was so firm as a contract sealed in blood._

The room began to whirl crazily. Then he was on the floor.

Somewhere in the encroaching shadows a familiar voice called out, "My God, man, what's happened to you?"

A dazzle of light thrust Spock into partial awareness. He reeled and seemed to be toppling from the Enterprise transporter platform, but strong, capable hands steadied him. He lay in a cloud of darkness, murky with sounds of commotion...

 _"Pressure bandage!"_

 _"Rig instant I.V. whole T-negative, stat!"_

 _"Ready protoplaser!"_

ooooo

Barely controlling his horror, Doctor McCoy worked over his patient with the speed and skill of long experience. In his Starfleet career he had treated a host of grisly injuries—never pleasant, but out in Space he expected them. Not here on Earth—and definitely not _Spock_.

Green blood was everywhere! It seeped from beneath Spock's pressure bandages and oozed from his drenched clothing onto the examination table. Underneath McCoy's surgical gown, his own uniform bore the gory marks of helping Spock aboard ship. He shuddered to think what might have happened if he had not tracked the Vulcan to Justrelle Lemoine's hotel. He tried not to think of what might still happen as the monitor panel flashed critical warnings overhead.

McCoy turned his attention to Spock's neck. Rapidly he removed bits of glass and repaired the torn jugular vein with a protoplaser. Looking pale as death, Nurse Chapel handed him a medscanner. He cursed under his breath as the instrument located the gashes in Spock's blood-soaked hair.

"Shave the area," he ordered, stepping aside. Watching Chapel work, he called over his shoulder, "Get the captain!"

ooooo

…Hovering on the outer edge of consciousness, Spock heard a persistent buzzing sound and felt a swarm of insects stinging his ear. He winced and turned his head.

 _"Four cc's of endorphine stimulator."_

 _"Doctor…who do you suppose did this?"_

 _"See if you can clean him up a little, Christine. Has anyone found Jim?"_

 _"Sir, the captain's not aboard ship."_

 _"I know he's not aboard ship. Where is he?"_

The stinging subsided, the pain eased to a dull manageable ache. Spock felt the gentle scrub of a wet, warm cloth on his face, his arms, his chest. He felt the natural pull of a healing trance coming on, and fought against it. His sodden trousers were being cut and stripped away when he drifted back into the darkness…

ooooo

McCoy was worried. On the bed monitor all Spock's vital signs were sliding into normal range—for a half-Vulcan. A small beep signaled that the final transfusion of blood was complete, and he lifted the intravenous cuff. Chapel immediately started cleaning the exposed area.

"That's good enough," snapped McCoy, gruffness masking his concern that Spock had not awakened. There were no physiological signs of the Vulcan healing mode, which was very odd. He rechecked the results on Spock's brain scan. It showed only a moderate concussion, no appreciable damage from lack of blood. Judging from past performances, the Vulcan should have been sitting up by now, ready for an argument.

Chapel took another tentative swipe at Spock's arm with the washcloth, but McCoy shooed her away and shut the cubicle door. Alone, he gazed down at his bandage-swathed patient. Spock's color looked good. He touched the greenish facial skin. It was reassuringly hot. Taking up a light, he manually tested the pupil response of each eye. Satisfied, he gave the Vulcan a gentle nudge. "Okay, sleepyhead, time to wake up." Nothing. "Spock, I'm starting to think you don't want to wake up. Is that it?" Still nothing.

McCoy sat beside him on the bed. "Maybe you're sorry I came after you. Maybe you wish I'd let you bleed to death. You never were afraid to die, were you? Living is the hard part. Having to deal with people, with emotional situations, with your _own_ emotions."

Spock's eyes slowly opened and shifted pointedly to the ceiling. McCoy suspected that he had heard everything. _Good,_ he thought and continued talking as if he was not shaky with relief. "I had a feeling that you'd get yourself in trouble tonight. You went after that Justrelle woman, didn't you? What in Sam Hill happened? I pulled enough glass out of you to make a crystal chandelier."

McCoy saw the Vulcan shiver and got up to adjust the bed temperature. Spock still had not met his eyes…nor answered his questions. "Alright. You think saving your hide doesn't give me any right to pry into your personal affairs…but this looks like a matter for the police. You'd better come out with it, man. What did you do down there?"

Spock struggled to sort through the jumbled memories of the past hour. Justrelle's sneering face…the staggering blow to his head. In the space of one spiteful breath, all that remained to him of Adrianna—her memory, her child—had been turned into a bitter mockery. He did not want to consider any of it. In his weakness, the crush of memories and emotion threatened to overwhelm him. With an effort he revealed, "I did not harm the woman."

McCoy visibly relaxed. "Well, _that's_ good news—but she sure as hell took a bite out of you." Glancing at the bed monitor he asked, "Feeling any pain?"

A most ironic question. Spock cleared a damning thickness from his throat. "I can deal with the discomfort, Doctor. I wish only…to be alone."

McCoy studied the averted eyes, watched another chill shake the tense Vulcan before nodding his consent. "Alright. By the way, Jim's with family in Iowa. Since you're stable now, he says he'll come by in the morning."

Spock roused and looked straight at him. "Doctor, you haven't—you won't—"

"Tell him the whole story? No—I haven't and I never _will_. Get that through your thick green skull." He dimmed the lights and closed the door, leaving Spock lying among the shadows.

 _Alone now._ In the brutal clarity of loss, Spock found that countless details emerged from his memory _. Golden eyes shining with love...hair the color of ripe earth wheat…breath puffing into clouds on a crisp Ildaran morning…an unexpected touch…a_ _smile…a tender word._ All lies.

 _Intimacy. Passion. That aching, hollow part of him heated to liquid flame_. Was none of it genuine? Was it nothing more than a cruel game? _Like a cat, only smarter._

Spock tried to concentrate on each ragged breath. _The discipline…of Vulcan…must be invoked…_ But he had entered her mind! How could she have fooled him so completely? Tears welled from his eyes. Angrily he brushed them away. _So it would_ _be, as it was meant from the beginning. A lone Vulcan standing upon the sacred ground of his forefathers, waiting to join his betrothed. Strangers bound for life by the ancient_ _rites._

He would have married her—he would have sacrificed his career. For a lie? _Let the aching memories die here and now. Face the failure and learn from it. Accept the loneliness, forget the enticing Sy pleasure._

But how? How—when even now he could feel it dancing along his nerves?

In a ragged voice Spock recited the familiar mantra. "I embrace logic—an inner discipline founded on reason—total self-mastery through the guiding principles of Surak—" Choking, he wadded the blankets in his hands. He clenched his teeth. He would _not_ indulge in sentiment or self-pity. He would _not_ shed tears over a delusion. Once and for all he would put Adrianna behind him and live on.

By force of will, he lowered his hands to his sides. Consciously releasing the tension throughout his body, he closed his eyes. Little by little Spock's mind contracted to a single dispassionate point, and he felt himself sink into a healing trance…


End file.
